Then the first of the dwarf lines fired their crossbows, aiming purposefully at the horses to impede the ones behind with the bodies of the fallen. Castimir, meanwhile, hurled bolts of fire into those riders closest to him. Seconds later the second line of crossbowmen fired, followed by the third, and then the fourth. Finally, as the Kinshra horsemen closed to within thirty yards of the line, the fifth and last rank of dwarf crossbowmen fired. Their steel bolts hissed through the air to penetrate armour and horseflesh with ease, amid the screams of man and beast alike.
The several hundred bolts the dwarf soldiers had loosed destroyed the cavalry formation entirely. From a compact line of men riding shoulder to shoulder, the charge had been decimated. Those in the rear ranks had noted the approach of Theodore and had broken off to either engage him or to flee.
A dozen riders did make it to the line dwarf. One horse, driven mad with pain, attempted to throw its rider, who grimly held on, directing the animal toward Kara’s position. It reared up scant yards before her, its forelegs threatening to crush Kara’s skull. Gar’rth stepped forward instinctively. His hands seized the stallion’s forelegs and his body bent low as he dug his feet into the soft earth. The horse was pushed forward on its hind legs, the rider swearing. Within a few seconds, the horse fell onto the screaming rider, who was crushed beneath his steed.
“There will be no prisoners” Kara said resolutely. “They will be treated with the same mercy they offered those who fell into their hands-only it shall be quick for them.” Her eyes were cold and hard.
Commander Blenheim looked to his men to see if anyone wished to argue. No one did.
Theodore struck seconds later. Those riders who had reached Kara’s line were dispatched by the dwarf soldiers, and those who had broken off to confront him were too few to resist for long. Within moments, he had surrounded the last group of horsemen who had attempted to fight back, crushing them against one another so they could not even turn. He and his men struck at their enemy from every direction, outnumbering them three to one.
None were spared.
Lord Radebaugh hacked the arm off a Kinshra lancer as an Imperial Guardsman stabbed him from behind, and the same story was repeated on all sides. The Kinshra found themselves trapped, and their pleas for clemency were ignored.
Nearly two hundred of them managed to flee, however, galloping westward. A Kinshra officer rode swiftly to intercept them, but his shouts were ignored. Without stopping, they rode from the battlefield.
Theodore watched in satisfaction. The Kinshra will was breaking.
A few hundred yards away, Kara gave the order to advance.
The two men were alone in the central chamber, listening for Marius, who stalked the nearby passages in silence.
“You have no alternative but to reveal yourself” Sir Tiffy said loudly. “I shall send Ebenezer back to the city to return with more men, and then you shall be found. If you surrender to us, we shall not execute you. I cannot promise that if others join us.”
The old knight exchanged a questioning look with the alchemist. For all they knew, the city might have fallen already. But neither dared say so.
“I have an idea, Sir Tiffy” the alchemist whispered, raising the lantern as he spoke, and motioning for his friend to come closer.
The breeze buffeted the lamp again and the light flickered once more.
The battle was going badly for Bhuler. Sulla’s force had joined the fighting in front of the wall and by sheer weight of numbers had driven the knights back again. Soon they would be trapped in a second horseshoe, larger and more aggressive than the first. Now the Kinshra were fighting for their lives, knowing that Kara and her army would also have to be faced.
Bhuler knew he had to act. He raised the banner of Sir Amik, shouting to his riders to follow him in a desperate charge to buy time for Kara to come to their aid. He knew it could only result in one outcome, but he also knew with absolute certainty that this was the hour for which he had lived his whole life.
He wept behind the visor, hot tears of rage and fervour. Saradomin had accepted him. With a cry of determination he held the banner aloft and urged his horse forward at a gallop, charging Sulla’s line.
But the pikemen were ready, standing shoulder to shoulder in an immovable formation with their pikes facing the oncoming enemy.
It was a formation no horse or rider had ever penetrated. Yet still Bhuler rode on.
The light guttered, leaving them in total darkness.
“Quickly, relight it” Sir Tiffy urged with a hint of panic in his voice.
“I can’t,” Ebenezer said desperately.
Now is my chance!
Finistere was no fool. He moved silently, knowing that if he did run he would reveal himself.
“What is wrong with it?” Sir Tiffy asked, his voice still unsettled.
“The fuel is gone” Ebenezer said. “We will have to listen for him in the dark.”
It was the news he had been straining to hear. Silently he advanced until he stood at the chamber’s edge, listening to the two men only yards away from him as they struggled with the lantern. The darkness was so black that his sight could not grow used to it.
He clutched his sword tightly, stepping down from the tunnel and into the knee-deep water on the chamber floor. But his foot slipped. Stifling a cry, he grabbed at the tunnel mouth to steady himself, his scabbard scraping against stone.
Immediately, the chamber filled with a sickly light.
“Well, Finistere, we have reached the end game,” the alchemist said, smiling grimly as he pulled his cloak away from the lantern and opened a small hatch to allow the air to flow in and fuel the flame.
The traitor stared in hatred at him as the flickering light grew stronger.
“Clever trick, old man. Very clever!”
Knowing that all hope of stealth had gone, he launched himself in a desperate attack on men who had once called him friend.
SEVENTY-TWO
The plume of smoke parted in a ragged tear, like an invisible knife cutting down the centre of a silk veil. Through the gap, Sir Amik watched as Bhuler pulled his horse back at the last possible second, then urged it on in a jump that took it over the first line of pikes and into the men behind.
He smashed them aside, causing a ripple-like shudder to travel along their entire length.
“You valiant fool,” he moaned, certain that his friend was doomed.
But Sir Amik was wrong. Even as he wept, he noted a dozen other horsemen follow Bhuler’s example, each crashing into the Kinshra line that was still reeling from his valet’s assault.
On the city’s ramparts were the foresters who had fled before the Kinshra advance, a people who wielded bows before they could talk. They launched their lethal arrows now, and thinned the pikemen, leaving gaps in their formation large enough for the knights to drive in with all their armoured weight.
Sir Amik watched as-impossibly-the Kinshra line broke in two, severed at its centre as the knights before the wall rushed upon them, their determination now a fanaticism inspired entirely by one brave man.
Bhuler continued his merciless charge through the Kinshra rows, his banner adding another enemy to the grim toll as he drove its tip into a Kinshra helm. He urged his horse on, pulling the banner free, finding himself alone on the far side of the Kinshra line.
Only one enemy dared to challenge him.
Jerrod lowered his hood slowly, anticipating the fear that his nightmare visage would inspire. He stared at the knight across thirty yards of open ground.
He saw Sir Amik’s horse neigh nervously as it tugged at the reins in an effort to make his master find another foe. But the knight was steadfast.